


Of Redbeard and the Rabbit.

by LooselybasedonUk



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung, Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:57:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1725317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LooselybasedonUk/pseuds/LooselybasedonUk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a kidfic - in which young William Holmes loses a friend ,  unmasks a thief ,  finds a friend, learns several important new life skills and makes an important decision.<br/>Meanwhile Mycroft reads the paper  and Mrs Holmes fails to cook anything edible.</p><p>Also featuring Bunny Manders from the Raffles , the Gentleman thief stories ( see notes for more details)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Redbeard and the Rabbit.

‘I think’ said William to the kitchen in general ‘that the Rabbit is a spy.‘  
‘Pfft! ‘said Mycroft who was working his way steadily through his translation of a Russian newspaper and had no time at all for his stupid younger brother’s fancies  
‘It's Mr Rabbit, dear’ said William’s mother as she poked the under done roast potatoes. ‘And you’re not to go bothering him.’ She glared fiercely at him ‘he's a nice man and I'm sure he's not a nasty old spy.’  
Mycroft rolled his eyes at his mother's tone and William pouted. Redbeard ever responsive to his master’s moods sighed and slumped despondently on to the tiled floor.  
‘But he's got a gun in his bread bin.’ William argued ‘I saw it when I peeked through the window.‘  
That gave Mrs Holmes a moment’s pause, but just a moment.  
‘Well yes. That is odd dear,but I expect it’s like the time I found your daddy's glasses in the fridge, or I left my handbag in the chicken coup. Sometimes people just forget where they put things’  
‘But it was a gun, Mummy ‘William whined ‘a real one too.’   
 Mycroft glanced at his brother ‘how did you know it was real?’ he asked   
William stood up straight, delighted that his beloved elder brother was finally paying attention to him.   
‘I took a picture of it with my mind’ he explained seriously ‘and then went through all the books in the library until I identified it.'  
'Hmm ‘said Mycroft.  
William nodded. ‘It’s a Walther, the Police Pistol Detective Model’ ‘he added helpfully  
Mycroft looked at his young brother more closely. Not bad,he thought, he had shown observation, memory and research skills. This required more testing  
‘How do you know it was a real gun though not just a good replica? ‘  
William paused a moment gave his evidence serious thought, ‘Well when the Rabbit... ‘  
‘Mr Rabbit’ his mother broke in  
‘Mr Rabbit’ William carried on ‘picked up the gun it hit the side of the bin and made a clinging noise so I knew it was real metal and when he put it in his pocket it made his jacket lopsided so I saw Mr Rabbit swap the pockets his keys and change were in to make it sit right . So I estimated the weight of the gun using Daddy’s keys and some change and …’  
‘Oh’ said Mycroft hollowly ‘…estimated. Why not just say guessed, William?’  
He turned back to newspaper. Beside him William waved his arms dramatically, and protested.  
‘But ,Mycroft, Mr Rabbit has a gun …! Why does a retired Insurance man need a gun?’  
Redbeard stood up again and barked at Mycroft, the canine equivalent of yeah answer that one, smart arse. Redbeard was always on William’s side. It galled Mycroft horribly as Redbeard had originally been a present to him on William’s birth.  
‘I expect ‘said their father stumbling in from the garden’ he needs it for those bees of his‘  
Mycroft present his lip firmly together and counted to a hundred in Russian, French , Japanese and for laughs, Ancient Norse. He would not ask his father why anyone would need a gun for bee keeping. William however still young enough to think his parents were sane people frowned and opened his mouth.  
‘That's enough, you boys’ their mother scolded, ‘William upstairs and clean those hands pronto, and you too darling’she added to her husband, ‘Myc,clear off your colouring in off the table please. ‘  
‘It’s a graph showing the frequency of lonely hearts messages appearing on the 42nd page of this paper against so called spontaneous acts of civil unrest . ‘Mycroft explained coolly to his mother. ‘I believed that there is a pattern indicative of a code in them’  
‘Yes dear ‘said his mother ‘and very pretty it is too but now it’s time for dinner so tidy it away please.’  
Mycroft rolled his eyes but cleared his work off the table, sometimes he wondered if he was the only sane one in this house.

Mr Rabbit sat at his kitchen table. In his right he cradled a tumbler of whisky and the fingers of the left rested gently on the gun. He looked over at the kitchen wall and to the cricket bat leaning rather rakishly against it. How he wondered had it come to this ? To an English surburb , a neat little house and a life of respectability. He remembered wide skies and dust plains, the smell of gunpowder and gently mocking laughter. How could he bear it ? He looked at the gun . But as so often he lacked the courage to raise it and end this lonely trudge of life. He drank more of his whisky,soon he thought and patted the gun beside him, soon.

The next few days proved themselves eventful and Mr Rabbit was a forgotten topic in the Holmes house for the time being. Redbeard was by now nearly eight and had been for sometime, been unpredictable in his behaviour toward everyone except William. Mr and Mrs Holmes had just begun to consider options to ensure the safety of all concerned. However that Wednesday morning, Redbeard committed an act which put him beyond the pale. He bit the postman. William, increasingly frantically and tearfully, put together a good case that the postman had deliberately provoked the dog and uncovered a history of animal abuse inflicted by the man about the neighbourhood. He also uncovered the man’s many acts of thievery from the letters and parcels he should have been delivering. And yet this was not enough to save the elderly dog, it was agreed that Redbeard was dangerous and would have to be put down. So that morning whilst William was at violin lessons, his parents took his constant companion to the vet's surgery and by the time he had returned home, it was a fait accompli. On his return home William received the news with a startling gravity. His pale face solemn and his eyes red-rimmed but dry; he informed his mother that he was going to sit in his room for a while. There he remained blankly staring at the ceiling for the next two days. On the third day he got up, ate a small breakfast with no real enthusiasm and tonelessly informed his mother that he had something to do and would be back before tea. Mrs Holmes watched her son leave the house. She sighed. William was such an open soul, he felt things too deeply, she thought, still it wasn’t too be helped now and beside children get over these sort of things quickly enough . The worse would have passed by tea time, she concluded.

William wandered down the long overgrown garden. He thought he might climb the fir tree at the bottom of it and sit in the branches and cry for a bit. But that just remind him that Redbeard use to hate it when he did , whining until William had either come down or on several extremely uncomfortable occasions had lifted the dog into the tree with him. Getting up the tree was hard enough, getting out was even harder and William had once broken his arm doing so. He’d always meant to rig up some sort of pulley-lift type of thing but it had seemed simpler just to sit at the bottom of the tree and let Redbeard drool on him on terra firma. Of course now, all plans were pointless. Young as he was, William was sure that everything had changed in some deep and unsettling way. He badly needed a distraction, any distraction to occupy his mind. So instead of climbing the tree he crawled into the secret den under the brambles and peered under the hedge that separated the Holmes’ own garden from Mr Rabbit’s much neater one. 

Mr Rabbit was sitting on a garden bench oiling an old cricket bat. He looked about as happy as William felt. William, as misery, appreciated the companionship.Mr Rabbit finished the bat and sat with it across his knees, patting it absentmindedly.  
‘Bit of a to do here this week, old man’ he said quietly  
William looked at the man more closely. He was gazing off up the garden and didn’t look like he was talking to him but who else was here?  
‘Never did like the postman’ he continued ‘thought he was one of Mackenzie’s lot. Always asking sly little questions, calling me Mr Rabbit all the time, like he was making a point.’  
Mr Rabbit paused and looked up at the sky briefly.  
‘Caught him peering in my kitchen window one time, made some ridiculous excuse or another. Thoroughly nasty job of work.’  
This opinion so concurred with William‘s own that he replied unthinkingly  
‘And he got my best friend killed ‘  
Mr Rabbit jumped. His eyes scanned the hedge and he seemed surprised to see William peering up at him.  
‘He killed someone?’ Mr Rabbit asked  
‘Yes’ said William ‘he killed Redbeard, my best friend ever, or at least the vet made him go to sleep’ he clarified’ but he won’t have done it if the postman hadn’t have kicked him and made Redbeard bite him.’  
Mr Rabbit was not used to children and had little idea about how you might discourage one from eaves dropping on you in your own garden, beside something about this blurted tale of hideous injustice appealed to his better nature, so he responded gently  
‘Oh dear, I’m so very sorry for your loss. I didn’t realise. I’m sure Redbeard was a very good … dog?’ William nodded mournfully.  
‘It’s William Holmes isn’t it?’ Mr Rabbit continued. William nodded again.  
‘I must say you did a splendid job unmasking the villain. ‘  
William had never considered this, but now he did, Mr Rabbit was clearly right William had in fact been rather splendid. He was fairly sure even Mycroft had looked briefly impressed. The conversation seemed to have ground to a halt. After a moment Mr Rabbit tried again.  
‘Are you quite comfortable in there? ‘  
William was not and so he shrugged in answer.  
‘Well, er ... if you want to come out, you could sit here,’ Mr Rabbit patted the bench beside him ‘and well, I suppose tell me all about your friend Redbeard.’  
William looked a little doubtful.  
‘I had a very dear friend who died too’ Mr Rabbit added ‘and I found that went I talk about him he doesn’t seem quite as far away ‘  
William stared at Mr Rabbit for a bit, he seemed like a nice sort of person really and maybe William could find out more about his being a spy if they talked. Cautiously he wiggled forward through the hedge. Mr Rabbit smiled at him.  
‘I don’t really want to talk about Redbeard anymore today, thank you.’ William said politely as he stood up ’It hurts. I was wondering instead if we could talk about your gun.’  
Mr Rabbit looked at the child who looked back at him.  
‘My gun’ he said trying to sound incredulous ‘I don’t have a gun, dear me no.’  
‘Actually you do’ said William reasonably ‘today you have it in the back of your belt , it means you can’t sit back comfortably so you winch, usually you keep it in your bread bin, you hollowed out space in a loaf for it. That’s quite clever I think, but must be difficult if you need to retrieve it quickly. ‘  
Mr Rabbit tried an unconvincing chuckle as if William was making a joke. But William carried on, deductive flow unstoppable  
‘You think someone is after you. I can tell because you put flour on the kitchen floor so that you can see any footprints left if someone breaks in. But you probably should also wedge a paper clip or something little into the window frames so that you can see if someone has disturbed them when you get home.’  
‘Well really of all the imaginations…’ Mr Rabbit blustered.  
The look William Holmes gave him, so clearly full of don’t try to con me, was so sharply reminiscent of another long gone face , that for a moment it took Mr Rabbit’s breath away. He looked again at the figure before him, and saw not just a child but another person and one clearly in possession of a rather sharp mind. Mr Harry Rabbit decided to allow himself a privilege he was too often denied. He decided to tell the truth.  
‘Well, that was brilliant’ he finally said. ‘It strikes me, young William that you are just the sort of fellow I’ve been looking for. Why don’t you sit down, I’ll tell you my story, and perhaps you might see your way to using those sharp eyes as a lookout for me?’  
‘Depends ‘William shrugged again ‘Are you actually a spy? ‘  
‘Good lord no’ said Mr Rabbit ‘it’s much more interesting than that, I’m actually a retired jewel thief.’  
‘Oh ‘said William. He had strong opinions about spies, they were bad and traitors to their country and he wouldn’t have helped one .But a jewel thief, was practically a pirate and pirates were cool. He could live with a pirate next door. And so William sat down.

There passed one of the more interesting days of young William Holmes’ life. Mr Rabbit (call me Bunny, William. I had to change my name to put the past behind me. I miss being Bunny.) gave a full and frank account of his life as the sidekick ( I prefer junior partner, William ) of a very dashing and daring gentleman jewel thief . William was very impressed and any lingering reserve melted under Bunny’s vow to teach William how to pick a variety of locks, bowl a googly and get himself out of handcuffs. Bunny explained that a particularly persistent policeman called Mackenzie (policemen are complete dunderheads William ) might be sniffing around but William was to keep an eye out for a man called Sam Merton ( big man , ex boxer , nose spread all over his ugly mug ) who seemed to think Bunny might still have a particular diamond that he and his partner had lifted some ten years earlier. Merton was who the gun was for, not to shoot at him but just Bunny said, as punctuation.  
Then Bunny taught William some sleight of hand tricks, which made three marbles and handkerchief disappear in a very satisfactory manner. William was a child with a very particular type of mind and Bunny’s tales of meticulously planned crimes soaked into it like summer rain on a cricket pitch. Bunny too found himself increasingly enjoying his rapt and intelligent audience. He was just explaining how to pull off a move called the donkey's whistler with out resorting to the Spots ( not sporting, old bean and hell on the legs ) when the strident voice of Mrs Holmes made itself clear .  
William sighed with obvious reluctance  
‘Better go’ he said  
‘Of course’ said Bunny rather sadly  
William trotted back to the hedge  
‘I can come back tomorrow though can’t I?’ He asked ‘I want to hear more about the Mazarin Stone . You do still have it, don’t you Bunny?’  
Bunny winked ‘That would be telling, William.’ He said  
William Holmes smiled wide and blinding. ‘Bet you, I can find it’ he said  
Bunny chuckled.  
‘Go home, William’ he said ‘I’ll see you tomorrow ‘  
Bunny stood in his garden and watched the boy scramble back through the hedge. He shook his head and stooped to pick up the cricket bat.  
‘Well’ he said to no one in particular and someone very specifically, ‘There’s a thing, old man. Got a mind like a steel trap, that one. Reminds me of you rather.’  
He looked up to the sky, blue and endless. Bunny rather thought that retirement might be more interesting than he had previously hoped after all.  
*  
‘Here you go William’ said his mother’ I made you your favourite.’  
William looked at the slightly burnt sausage and consistently lumpy mash in front of him. He didn’t really feel all that hungry; his mind was too busy to think about food.  
‘Actually’ he said I’ve been thinking and I’ve decided to change my name ‘  
‘Oh yes dear’ his mother smoothed his hair down. Honestly his hair always looks like he’d been crawling through a hedge backwards, she thought.  
‘Yes ‘said William ‘I decided to put the past behind me so from now on I’m only answering to Sherlock from now on .’  
‘Right’ said his mother absentmindedly’ I’ll let your father know dear.’

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Rabbit aka Bunny aka Harry Manders was the rather naïve companion of A J Raffles, cricketer and gentleman thief. These characters were created by E W Hornung , ACD's brother in law as a homage/pastiche of Sherlock and Watson. 
> 
> In my head cannon Bunny died peacefully after several years of friendship with Sherlock, leaving him with a sound knowledge of criminal activity, a useful set of lock picking tools and appreciation of a solid wing man. He did of course still have the Mazarin Diamond but sold it some time later and bought Sherlock a rather good microscope with some of the money. 
> 
> Mrs Holmes never has learnt how to cook.


End file.
